Number 49
From a newspaper story about a chain of gyms that cater to women who want a fast workout without frills:
"It's a comfort-level thing."
My issue with this sentence is that it combines a pop-psychology term, "comfort level," with a non-specific, all-purpose, hippy-era noun, "thing" (it's my thing, it's your thing). I suppose it sounds more contemporary than something like your basic "it's comfortable." Saying "comfort level" rather than "comfortable" sounds as if the speaker pretends to a more complex understanding of human comfort than is necessary. Are these levels measurable?
The November 6 Wall Street Journal carried a review by J. Bottum of Doing Our Own Thing ~ The Degradation of Language and Music and Why We Should, Like, Care, by John McWhorter, which I haven't read yet. I particularly want to read what McWhorter says about "thing." His book notes the decline of elevated written language, which has "uniformly descended to the condition of talk," thus marginalizing "extended, reflective argument."
A gym does not require or inspire elevated language, either in writing or in speech. "It's a comfort-level thing" is an instance of speech adopting written expression, and not the best of it, certainly not "reflective."
From Aldous Huxley's Brave New World:
"Oh, she's a splendid girl. Wonderfully pneumatic."
I haven't run across this use of "pneumatic" before or since. I assume it means that the girl had a nice, firm, zaftig frame, like an inflated tire. It occurred to me to wonder how a high school student would understand this word in this context, how young readers today could begin to figure out why Huxley used it. At least a slight sense of history is required. Huxley obviously was using "pneumatic" to mean inflated with gas or air, not the sense of "vital spirit"; remember that when this book was published in 1932, pneumatic tires for automobiles were still somewhat high tech. Brave new sex was soulless in his dystopia, and the body was little more than a machine. But what was shocking in that book is the stock in trade of adolescents' video fare today.
Also, how would they guess that "brave" can mean something other than "courageous"? Would even their teachers be able to tell them, without Cliff Notes, that the title comes from a line in Shakespeare's The Tempest? So much of Huxley's writing alludes to so much other writing. He could be a little flat-footed and cold, but his stories refer us to all that he knew about Western history and civilization. When I taught English composition, I found that most students didn't have the basic information necessary to get through some fairly simple ideas. I worry about these things.
No doubt you've noticed the verb "repurpose" insinuating its way into the language. Although its meaning is clear, I can't help but suspect its integrity. It must be a recent coinage as I do not remember reading or hearing it until comparatively recently. Furthermore, my Word spellchecker underlines it, showing that it's not a standard part of the vocabulary. The question is, is it necessary?
My online dictionary gives this definition and example: "To use or convert for use in another format or product: repurposed the book as a compact disk."
If a book is reproduced or reformatted as a compact disk, does its purpose change? I think not. Question answered.
Can't remember where I heard this one:
"He was a serial liar."
As opposed to a one-time liar?
I heard on TV that the Baghdad airport is "now refurbished." This may be, strictly speaking, accurate, yet it suggests a decorating project by Martha Stewart or Christopher Lowell rather than the rebuilding of a bombed-out building.
Anyway, today is Veteran's Day. Did you buy a poppy? Perhaps you know that the custom of selling poppies goes back to WWI, and this poem:
By John McCrae, 1915
In Flanders fields the poppies blow
Between the crosses, row on row,
That mark our place; and in the sky
The larks, still bravely singing, fly
Scarce heard amid the guns below.
We are the Dead. Short days ago
We lived, felt dawn, saw sunset glow,
Loved, and were loved, and now we lie
In Flanders fields.
Take up our quarrel with the foe:
To you from failing hands we throw
The torch; be yours to hold it high.
If ye break faith with us who die
We shall not sleep, though poppies grow
In Flanders fields.
Copyright Rhonda Keith 2003. Parvum Opus or part of it may be reproduced only with permission, but it is permissible to forward the entire newsletter as long as the copyright remains.
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